


head in my hands, can't screw it back on

by hawkinzclub



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, ah shit here we go again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkinzclub/pseuds/hawkinzclub
Summary: And of course, just like with everything else - Steve has no fucking idea what's going on.But, he agrees to help anyway.And at 2 am, when she finally vanishes and leaves him to deal with the fact that there is now another teenager in his life, he has a list.How to help 'Eleanor'1. stop repeating me2. get more marshmallows3. buy eggos4. come pick me up from hawkins bus stop no.3 at 7pm5. stop drinking energy drinks6. see no.2So, tomorrow instead of going to his night class, he's picking up Eleven from bus stop numero tres.





	1. john's giving away apples at bus stop number three

Steve Harrington was bad at a lot of things.

For instance, he fucking _sucks_ at math. He knows the basics, sure, like multiplication, division, he can do _that_. It's just, that other stuff, like the protractor thing, or sin, cosine, and - that other one. The highest grade he's ever gotten in a math class was a B+, and that was because his mom got mad at him because he couldn't figure out how many apples John had leftover if he had 10 and gave away three. Honestly, who fucking cares? Why does John even _need_ that many apples?

Anyway, she ended up doing his homework for him, thus gaining him his highest math grade to date, circa first grade.

He was bad at picking girls too.

Nancy, she was great and all. But, it didn't end like he'd wanted it to. He guesses he's bad at showing emotions too because, after a year of her best friend's death by drowning, his reaction was just _bullshit_. And in the end, she had found someone else. She found Jonathan, and sometimes, just so he can push that _feeling_ away, sometimes he says it wasn't really cheating if he already knew it was going to happen. When she and Jonathan came back after being gone for two nights, after she said she needed a break, Steve saw _it_. The way they suddenly stood closer than before, the way they looked at each other like they had _really_ looked at each other for the first time. And there Steve was, at Jonathan's house, helping his mother fucking cook.

Oh, he can cook but, one thing at a time, yeah?

Anyways, Steve saw it, and Joyce must've seen it too because she gave him a quick hug and told him that runny potatoes were fine.

It was _not_ fine because runny potatoes are _disgusting_ and his girlfriend left for two nights and never told him. He texted her, he called her, he face-timed her. She ignored him because she was with someone else, someone _better_.

And then he thought he found someone else. Someone way different than Nancy, she didn't even look anything like her. Steve was in love with her, well he thought he was anyways. She was funny, kind, and she made him feel good about himself. Most people put him down, and sure she does it too, but she jokes around. She compliments him, literally and figuratively. Her personality felt like it was meant to exist alongside his. He told her he loved her, then she told him she was a _lesbian_.

No traumatic heartbreak here. Just a _huge_ misunderstanding. She's _gay_, Steven.

Anyways, he still loves her, but in a different way. And it feels just as natural as it did the first time.

Now, Steve's _good_ at stuff, too.

He can cook, his mother taught him all of her recipes, and his grandma’s too. Then, when she started to leave the house more and more, more business trips, more vacations, he had to put that knowledge to use. And he was good at it - great, even. He shows it off at any chance he can, and since he’s bad at finding himself a girlfriend, he settles with feeding the hungry bellies of his friends.

He’s pretty good at being a friend, too. 

He gives Dustin rides most days, when Max got a car, he taught her how to drive. He was a model for Will when he got interested in painting (and he bought the paint, too). When Lucas wanted to learn how to fight, Steve recommended him to someone else, because absolutely not. And, he hasn’t killed Mike yet, so.

And, not even just those types of things, like buying them shit or taking them places. He’s there, too. When Lonnie’s in town and Jonathan is busy with photography, Steve lets Will stay in one of his spare room in his apartment, takes him out for donut holes covered in powdered sugar, and at the end of the night, when it’s dark and all the feelings wake up, he lets the kid cry on his shoulder. And when Will came out to Steve, he just said ‘me too’ cause he’s not bad at picking girls, he’s just not into them, not as much as he’s into guys anyway.

When he learns about Max having a particularly bad night, he’s there. When her brother has a stick up his ass, and when her stepfather has three up his, he calls her up, asks her to take him to the grocery store, or the mall. And even though he can hear her roll her eyes over the phone, when she gets to his place, she pulls up with a smile. 

They’re all sophomores this year, growing up, more so than usual, and he’s there too. Helping them with anything other than math, that is.

And, Steve Harrington can _write_.

It was a shock at first. He had created an account on tumblr, and he just started rambling. About his life, what he wanted out of life, about his day and his friends. He wrote about whatever he wanted, and he would just add a few tags, click post and then he’d be off to class, his freshman year of college and he was fucking internet famous.

He didn’t even know, at first. 

It was Lucas who brought it to his attention. He’d shoved his phone in Steve’s face, and all he saw was ‘kingsteveandwords’ in bold letters. After that, Steve told himself that if were to ever have another social media persona, he should pick a more anonymous name.

Anyways, he saw the reblogs and reposts, and people liked it. They actually thought that it was coherent, and when Steve read it back to himself, he thought it was pretty good too.

So, he kept at it. Every Tuesday before english, he’d write, write, and write until he got that good feeling he always gets when he does something that he loves.

Then his posts got more frequent, becoming something of almost every _night_, instead of every _day_ on Tuesday. Then, his writing went from happy and joyous to creepy and slightly concerning.

And it all started on

**The 17th of January, 11:02 pm**

It was dark in his apartment, like most nights. It’s cool, like usual. He leaves a window cracked for some noise other than his TV, and he keeps the fan in his bedroom on the highest setting. The covers are up around his neck, and he lays on his stomach, hands intertwined underneath his cool pillow. 

Usually, he’s pretty still when he sleeps, maybe moving once or twice within the night. But tonight, he’s restless, squirming around every five minutes, his dream making him uncomfortable and vulnerable, even though he’s asleep.

He’s at his laptop, writing an essay for an exam. He’s stressed, monster drinks, both full and empty, are scattered around his desk, and there are deep bags where his eyes should be behind his glasses. The ones he only wears when shit gets overwhelming.

In the back of Steve’s mind, the awake part is confused. He’s already done this exam, he actually did pretty well on it, and yet here he is in his mind, fingers darting across his keyboard. Typos, and grammatical errors, he says,

”I’ll fix it later.”

He types and he types, writing tirelessly about the history of fucking _whatever_ he doesn’t care. Then, suddenly, as he types, the words become something else.

_The Infection Era caused devastation throughout the North American continent. Bringing a false sense of discovery, Christopher Columbus brought smallpox along with him. The most common type of this plaguing disease could kill over 30% of a populationpleasehelpme. Smallpox is majorly caused by the variola major virusicantfindhimpleasehelpmepleasehelpmepleasepleasepleasepleaseicantfindmydad. Unlike the swine flu or any other disease, smallpox is only passed on by human beings. The most southern states such as Texas and Louisiana were hit the hardestidontknowwhereheisiwillfindyoupleasehelpmesomeonehelpmehesmissinghesmissing._

In the dream, he paused his writing, confused by how these words got here. He typed them, sure. But that's not what he wanted to say.

He feels a shift in the air, a wave, a ripple in his reality. There's a presence next to him, he wants to move his head, to look and see, but he can't. His dream body can only focus on the screen in front of him, and the words that he never meant to write. In the corner of his eye, something flashes. He focuses on it, and he sees the outline of a person, possibly someone around his age, or younger.

When the figure says, "Help me." He wakes.

**The 18th of January, 9:04 am**

"Were you drunk? It sounds like you were drunk."

"Rob, I haven't had a drink in like - a _week_."

"We drank _yesterday_, dingus."

"_What_? Okay, gross cheap beer from your dad's cooler doesn't fucking _count_."

"Uh, it counts when you drink _five_."

He glances up from watching his pop tart burn in the toaster as Robin props her feet up on his table, "I didn't have fucking _five_."

"I can smell your burning blueberry pop shit over here, and yes, you did have five."

He cuts the toaster off early, the slightly charred blueberry scent filling his nose, makes him a little woozy, "Are you here to judge me, or help me? And get your feet off my table."

She slams her still shoed feet onto his floor, knocking hard mud on his freshly mopped hardwood. She unlaces her shoes, and when they're off she puts her feet back on the table. "Listen, Steve, sometimes people have weird dreams, especially when you're drunk. I think?"

He puts his pop tart on a plate and takes the whipped cream out of his fridge, "I don't get drunk off of _beer_." He pushes against the nozzle and spreads the cream all over his breakfast. 

She gets up and walks over the counter, snatching the whipped cream out of his hand, "You were drunk off of _something_, I mean, that was pretty creepy."

She sounds muffled as she squirts whipped cream into her mouth, "I mean, a weird girl, asking you to help her?"

He goes to give her a remark, saying that he knows it fucking _creepy_ when the doorbell rings.

Robin looks at him with whipped cream stuck to the corner of her mouth, "Who's that?"

"Shitheads." He says as he dampens his thumb with his spit and wipes at her mouth.

"Ew, don't fucking put your spit on me, asshole."

The doorbell rings again, "You're fucking gross man, you would've walked around with that shit on your mouth all day," He stuffs the rest of the pop tart into his mouth as he heads for the door.

"Whatever, dingus."

He opens the door and five kids come hustling in his apartment, opening up the cupboards and immediately taking out his snacks, all without so much as a 'hello.'

"Uh, _hey_?" 

"Oh, hey Steve." Mike says with a mouthful of jumbo marshmallows.

"Hey, fucking put that back, I just bought those."

Dustin walks him over to his couch as he reaches out for the bag of marshmallows, and Robin beckons Mike over to share with her.

"Steve," Dustin starts while pulling out two bags of gummy worms, "I think you've had enough sugar."

"Yeah, either that or you're _psychic_," Max says while pointing her camera towards him which he did not pose for.

Lucas sits on Steve's feet, which he's kind of grateful for because he has cold feet, "Your mind is powerful, we think so anyway."

"My...mind - _what_?"

Will sits beside him on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Steve didn't know he _had_ popcorn.

Will pokes at his temples, "Y'know, your mind? This thing here?"

Steve snatches the remote from Dustin who somehow found the Discovery channel even though he has it blocked, "Yeah I know what a fucking - a - what a _mind_ is, you shithead."

They all groan in annoyance and Max says, "He's useless, come on let's show him."

He puts the tv on Nick Jr. because 'Max and Ruby' reruns are playing and he _loves_ that show, "Show me _what_?"

Lucas is shoving his phone in his face, he squints at the brightness (his blinds are _always_ closed) and once his eyes adjust, he reads.

_Indiana cop missing for 48 hours_

> _Police Chief of Hawkins, Indiana "Jim Hopper" reported missing by his daughter, Eleanor Hopper. Reports say that she arrived at the station looking dirty and disheveled. She says she was looking for him, and the deputy believes that she could have gone looking for him, meaning that the police chief could have been missing for quite some time. She describes the night as him going to patrol, after he heard concerns from his townspeople. He went to investigate near a restricted area of Hawkins, and never made it back home. Chief Hopper's secretary, Florence, describes his daughter as "strange" and "peculiar" and that she rarely ever left their home. His secretary and townspeople also describe her as "new", saying that she only arrived a few short years ago, almost a decade after the chief lost his first daughter, Sara. The search is on for not only the cop, but for Eleanor as well as reports say that just last night, she escaped from her aunts' home, Becky Ives, who believes the 16 year old girl went looking for her father._

Steve stops there, not continuing any further, "Okay?"

Dustin stares at him for almost an entire thirty seconds before he grabs Lucas' phone, "Dude, a cop is missing? Daughter is concerned?"

"Okay, so _what_, man? I mean her dad's missing, fucking _sucks_ for her _yeah_, but what's this got to do with _me_?"

A marshmallow lands on his head, "Don't you get it, dingus?"

She leans in close and whispers, "The girl, in your dream? What if this is her?"

Lucas grabs his phone back from Dustin, "It connects directly with the blog you posted, about your _dream_. And man, I got the notification at 1 am, that's concerning."

They all nod and grab their respective snacks, Steve snatches the bowl of popcorn from Will, "That's not even possible, that doesn't even make _sense_."

Will grabs the popcorn back with a force that Steve didn't even know the kid had, and his phone buzzes against his skin as everyone comes up with theories of his "power", fucking _idiots_.

> Jon: Hey, heads up, kids are coming over.

_Great fucking timing, Jonathan_.

He's asleep again. Or he's trying to be. He just can't help but think about the _girl_.

Why _him_?

Steve's nobody, well, he used to be somebody until life caught up with him. Until his father died from a drug overdose and no one wanted to talk to him anymore, because drugs are bad and he was suddenly responsible for his fathers' actions. He was someone up until the point where his mom and Tommy's mom had a brief stint together, he had come out to Tommy because they were _friends_, because he _trusted_ him. He was somebody, and they were friends up until the point where Tommy outed him and told everyone that _Stevie_ _boy_ had tried to suck his dick, even though they were going to be brothers. Which was a lie, he never tried to suck his dick, and true they could have been brothers at one point in time, but Mrs. Hader heard the rumor from a nosy old lady at a PTA meeting for Tommy's younger sister, and she called the wedding off.

Said she would not deal with _incestual_ _relations_ in her family.

Steve Harrington was a name that people wanted to be around, right up until the point he had forgotten to close his backpack and his anxiety medication fell out, and when the top fell off cause he didn't screw it on good enough, all of the little pills spilled onto the floor. The icing on the '_steve harrington sucks_!' cake. It was probably chocolate cake. He _hates_ chocolate cake.

Steve can't help anyone, he's a ruiner, he ruins things. He ruined his fathers' life because he was dumb and after paying school after school to let him in, they decided that money and one good grade in an English class weren't good enough, until his father died, and then they decided it _was_ good enough. They gave him a fucking pity acceptance. He ruined his mothers' relationship, possibly the only good one she had ever had after she and his father split when he was twelve. He ruined his reputation because he can't deal with _anything_.

He can be a friend, sure. Maybe a shoulder to cry on, but to help some "strange" and "peculiar" girl find her dad? No can do, _Stevie boy_.

Maybe if he could go five minutes without forgetting something he _just_ did, or if his hands could stop shaking long enough for him to hold anything, _maybe_ he'd be good enough. So after careful contemplation, he doesn't try to sleep. He goes to his fridge and pulls out the iced coffee that Rob brought him earlier and he drinks it, then he sips a Monster drink because he doesn't want the girl to ask for his help. He doesn't want her to invade his mind as he sleeps, begging him for help when he can't even help himself. He doesn't want to help, because he _can't_.

He doesn't lay down in his room, either. He goes to his living room and sits on the couch, trying to paying attention to George Lopez reruns, because he fucking _loves_ that show.

**The 18th of January, 11:02 pm **

She goes back, and the room is darker than it was the night before. She flips the covers, and there's not a soul underneath. She looks around the room and frowns when she finds no trace of the person, of Steve.

"_I only need money for ski stuff!_"

Huh?

She walks towards the noise, and when gets near the door exiting the bedroom, she sees a light coming from somewhere else, changing slightly every few seconds.

"_How much_?"

She walks closer, and she sees a person sitting on the couch, head lolled off to the right.

It's _him_.

"_Oh, well, it shouldn't be more than, like, $500_?"

She gets directly behind the couch, and she pokes him the shoulder.

"_$500! Ta loco, $500, nombre!_"

He jumps up, and a can in his hand clatters to the floor, and its contents spill out on the fluffy white rug. "Fuck!"

She flinches back, knocking into the small table behind her and she clenches her eyes shut as a vase falls to the ground and shatters.

"What the fu- _What the fuck_!"

She breathes out and he cocks his head back as he laughs and he grabs a pillow and clutches it to his chest, "I'm dreaming," He laughs again, "I'm dreaming, and you're not real, and I am _not_ a fucking psychic, and this whole day has been one _huge_ fucking fever dream because there is no fucking way that I'm helping you!"

He's out of breath and he drops the pillow onto the floor and he sinks down with it. She walks around the couch and she sits down beside him. He looks at her, lips parted and eyes wide, "You're not real."

Technically, she isn't. She's real, but she isn't really here, she's only projecting.

"I'm real, I'm here, in a sense."

"In a sense." He repeats flatly.

"Yes."

He laughs, but there isn't anything behind it. Maybe exhaustion. He says, "So, why are you here '_in a sense_', Eleanor?"

"Eleven."

"What?"

"My name, it's Eleven."

He runs a hand through his hair, "The - the article said your name was _Eleanor_."

She shakes her head, "Fake name."

"Fake name?"

She rolls her eyes, "You should stop doing that."

"Doing _what_?"

"Repeating me."

"Repeating y-," He cuts himself off and stands, he curses when he steps in the drink that he spilled, "Look, kid, I can't help you, okay. So like, stop coming into my mind and shit, alright?"

He walks to the kitchen and pulls an almost empty bag out from the cupboards, El follows him. "I'm not coming into your mind, you're coming into _mine_."

He looks at her like a ghost and he pulls the bag of marshmallows back and makes sure that it isn't infused with fucking cannabis or some shit, "The fuck are you talking about?

She takes the bag of marshmallows from him, without moving, wipes at her nose when blood leaks from it. He goes, "What the _fuck_?"

She lifts up her coat sleeve, "_Eleven_."

He's still looking and she rolls her eyes, "I have powers."

He squints at her and walks over to where she stands and snatches his marshmallows back, "_O-fucking-kay_, whatever. You have powers so why the fuck are you bothering _me_ to help you find your dad, do it yourself, fucking _christ_."

She giggles, "You're mean."

"I'm _tired_." He counters back.

She sits down on one of the stools at his counter, 'I go out looking for my dad, and then I hear you reaching out."

"What?"

"You're in pain, you reach out for help."

He scoffs and sits down beside her, wiggling his pointer finger in her face, "Reaching out? Look, kid, I have plenty of people to go to when I need fucking help, okay. I don't need help from a -a what are you, fucking _twelve_?"

"I'm _sixteen_."

"Right, yeah well, I have enough of those in my life."

She looks at him like '_Enough of what_?'

He says, "Oh, sorry, uh - enough of sixteen year olds."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a minute, and because he doesn't want to see any more snacks float, he gives her the rest of the marshmallows. She smiles at him when he does, and maybe just for a second he sees something in her, something he saw in Max, and Will, and Lucas. A sense of innocence and helplessness that always sucks him right in. He knows what it's like to miss your dad, to need him, and not be able to get it. Even behind her edge, he can see it in her eyes. The desperation, the sense of being lost and wandering around with nothing or anyone to guide you. He feels that way now and he's _nineteen_ for god's sake. He looks at this girl, with a tattoo on her wrist and blonde highlights in her hair, some sense of normalcy, besides her coming into his house and stealing his marshmallows with her mind. Her having a dad is probably the most normal fucking thing she's got right now. And when you stick out like a sore thumb in a game of thumb war, well, normalcy is the only thing you want.

"The article said that uh - he could've been gone for longer than 48 hours."

She looks at him with her big brown eyes that burn into his stream of consciousness, "Five days."

"Fucking _christ_, kid."

He starts, "Look if this is real, and I'm not totally hallucinating... what can I do to help?"

And at 2 am, when she finally vanishes and leaves him to deal with the fact that there is now another teenager in his life, he has a list.

_How to help 'Eleanor'_

_1\. stop repeating me_

_2\. get more marshmallows_

_3\. buy eggos_

_4\. come pick me up from hawkins bus stop no.3 at 7pm_

_5\. stop drinking energy drinks_

_6\. see no.2_

So, tomorrow instead of going to his night class, he's picking up Eleven from bus stop _numero tres_.


	2. little stevie, jacob and eleven too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVENT UPDATED ANYTHING IN FOREVER THIS FEELS SO GOOD PLEASE ENJOY IT

Eleven ‘Jane’ Hopper didn’t realize that something was seriously wrong until she was 12 years old. She had Margie Foster to thank for that.

In the beginning, El thought that all the kids wore skin tone suits and hospital gowns and that all the kids were put into tanks, left alone for hours. She thought all men did _that_ to little girls, El thought she was normal. She didn’t even think about being normal because in her mind she already was.

It wasn’t until her 12th birthday that she finally realized something was different.

Margie Foster had worked alongside Martin Brenner for years, almost from the very beginning. They turned down her first application, saying that she was too kind, too bright, they said she’d wouldn’t be a good fit for the type of work that they were going to do. Margie then applied for janitorial work, and slowly she made her way up after a few executives suffered injuries from a couple of wet floors, Margie had gotten the job.

Brenner trusted her, he needed her. Margie was the batter, and she got to the home plate every damn time. Now, sometimes the plate was faulty, or there might’ve been a foul, but nothing ever went wrong on Margie’s part.

She did her job, and she did it well. The kids would grow up, love life, they would trust her. 

Margie had gotten El a television for her 12th birthday, flat-screen with beautiful color, and big enough to where she could see it at any spot in the room. She saw channels, with bright colors, some yellow and red that talked about the weather. Some channels with people talking to her, telling her things like she was actually there. When she stumbled upon a channel called TeenNick, she saw something she wanted.

She never caught the name of the show, she switched the channel just as it was in the climax of the episode. But she saw kids, at school, and they looked nothing like she did. They wore bright clothes, pinks, and blues, greens and reds, they were in a class with other kids, and nobody, _nobody_ had powers.   
  
When Margie would come in to check on her, she would switch the channel, or turn the TV off altogether, afraid that she would get in trouble for _knowing_.

But one night, she fell asleep, engrossed in Chase and Zoey’s budding love. Margie came in and guided her awake, back to reality and out of her dreams where she lived a life where she wasn’t alone.

Margie had said, “El, I think I can help you.”

El had looked to the TV, eyes wide when she realized. Margie only gently touched her shoulder, she said, “It’s okay. It’s time that I tell you the truth.”

Margie had grabbed the remote and pressed the off button, leaving them in the darkness. Only the pale light of El’s nightlight was illuminating Margie’s blue eyes.

She said to El, “This place, I’ve been trying to get out of here for years. It’s no place for a woman like me, and especially not a little girl like you.”

She rubbed at El’s head, freshly shaven just a few days ago, “I know you like that show.”

El smiled quick and small, “I like it. It looks fun.”

”It _is_ fun, that’s how kids are supposed to live. Not like you, not like this.”

El touched her neck, feeling the swelling of an injection entry from earlier, “Then why am I here?”

Margie sighed deeply, and she had tucked her long red hair behind her ears. 

“You’re here because the bad men brought you here, Eleven.”

”Bad men?”

Margie nodded, scratched at her nose that was dotted with freckles, “Yes. Bad men who want power and money, and I’m just as bad as them.”

At the time, El wanted to tell her that she wasn’t. That she was _good_, that she was always there when she needed her. Margie had given her a TV, Papa said that only good kids got their own TV.

That night, Margie had left Eleven with a budding sense of hope.

”_We’re going to escape, you and I_.”

For three months, Eleven had been thinking about their escape.

For three months, Margie had been plotting her demise.

In those three months, Margie had convinced Brenner to let El grow her hair. El got hurt less and less, but she got more injections, to this day she still has no clue what it was. She had told them that Eleven was a good girl and that she didn't need those cuffs. That she wouldn't use her powers without permission. Margie got them to let El wear normal clothes, like a normal girl.

In the first week of the fourth month, it was time.

Margie put blankets and pillows and clothes into three big duffel bags and put them under El’s bed. She would bring in toothpaste, and toothbrushes for their trip. Margie told El she had gotten one in green. Her favorite color. 

El was eager to see it, she didn’t just like any old color of green, no. It was a specific shade, a light green, soft and soothing. One night, after Margie had brought in the last bag, El snuck and took a little peek.

She didn’t find clothes, or blankets or pillows. There was no green toothbrush, no bubblegum flavored toothpaste that Margie had raved about for ten minutes. There wasn’t anything in the bag except for newspapers. Crumpled up newspapers, nothing else.

She had sat back up on her bed quickly, she can still feel the pain from when she'd hit her ankle from moving too fast. She heard Margie coming, her heels connecting with the white tile that made El's teeth hurt. Margie came in, her hair slightly curled and tangled, "Are you ready, El?"

She just nodded and they both bent down to pick up the bags. El had tried not to make a face, knowing that all of this was a lie.

Margie had given her a pair of shoes, and a jacket to wear. And for a second, El thought that maybe they were escaping, she had thought that maybe Margie did care. El thought that maybe, Margie had had enough of seeing her suffer, seeing her in pain, seeing her isolated.

Margie led the way, her heels traded in for tennis shoes as they shuffled down the hall, looking over their shoulders at every turn. El still thought everything was fine, she still thought she and Margie were going to escape. That was until they went to the stairs and ran down, and they _kept_ going down. To the basement.

Mr.Bates had told her about the basement once, the one time that she refused to do what he asked. He yanked her up by the neck, hissed in her face and told her that if she wasn't a good girl, she'd go to the basement. He had told her that the basement is where little girls - _ungrateful_ little girls like her go to _die_. He said that they were making her better, making her stronger and that she should be grateful. El did what was asked of her, after that.

Margie asked if the people treated her nicely enough, El told her yes, at first. Then when she deemed Margie worthy of her truth, she told her of Mr.Bates and his words. Margie frowned, she wore a sour face after that. The next day when Margie visited, she told El that she wouldn't need to worry about Mr.Bates anymore.

El never saw him again after that.

They had kept going down, down, down, until they reached the last level, exiting the door from the stairwell and entering the hallway. Margie had walked slowly, tentatively as if she were afraid that they were to be caught.

"Margie?" She had said, her whispers bouncing off the walls like the fluorescent light.

Margie didn't turn around when she answered her, "Yes, Eleven?"

If El really thinks about it, she can remember the way that if felt colder as they got closer to the big white double doors.

She asked, her shoes screeching along the tile making them stop in their tracks, "Where are we going?"

Margie had tugged her by the arm, pulling her along faster, "We're escaping, you _do_ know that right?" 

El looks down at the arm that Margie yanks, remembering that the cuffs are no longer restricting her. "Yes, but, I don't think this is the way out."

Margie speaks louder, voice too loud for an escapee, "Of course it is."

"We're in the basement, Ms.Foster." El was never allowed to call her _Margie_.

"Eleven, I have been here longer than you've been alive. I know my way around." El had asked Margie to call her "El" instead of Eleven, Margie had only laughed. She said nicknames were silly.

El remembers at that moment, thinking if Margie was ever really nice to her. Thinking that maybe El only thought she was nice because she didn't hurt her as everyone else did.

El had rocked on her heels, knocking her and Margie to the cold hard floor. She got up and ran, she had left Margie scrambling to get to her feet. She remembers Margie's hand slamming onto a button on the wall, her voice rang throughout the building, "She's running."

She remembers the cold settling in her gut when they all came around the corners, scratching at her heels, trying to get her. She took off her bag, took off her jacket. She didn't want them having any chance of pulling her away from a taste of freedom. She remembers that burning feeling, she can still feel it trickle down from her nose as she waved her hands and took them all out. 

She didn't look back. Sometimes she wishes she had, she still wonders if any of them are still alive.

**The 19th of January, 8:13 pm**

Steve fucking sucks.

He didn't think he would crash this bad. He didn't think he'd be sitting outside Dino's Ice Cream, on their outside benches with no fucking ice cream, because they close at seven. And he wouldn't need any ice cream if he had gone to pick up Eleven as he promised (he's not actually sure if he promised but she wrote him a list so it fucking feels like a promise.) 

She's probably sitting on a bench just like him, maybe with a bag or something, waiting for him. She's probably cold. It's cold in January. He would know cause he's outside with a tank top on. And sweats. He's got on sweats tho. He's shivering a little, and his face is a little sticky with tears, and his upper lip is salty with tears and snot cause he's been crying. Cause he should've been in his car, but instead he was leaning against the fridge cause he didn't have any ice cream. And he didn't have any eggos or marshmallows or anything because he's _stupid_. He cried because he did have ice cream, but it was frozen solid and he couldn't get the top off, and if he can't help himself to ice cream then how's he gonna help a girl find her dad?

The answer is that he _can't_.

He can't open ice cream, and he can't remember that Dino's closes at seven every night. He kicks at a rock, or he tries to, and he misses it with his foot and he goes leaning forward and he would've busted his fucking nose open, but someone's grabbing his shoulders.

"Careful there, dingus."

He laughs sadly, not even bothering to look at the body sitting down beside him, "Oh fuck me." He groans.

She chuckles, "No thanks."

They sit for a moment before she pulls a hoodie out a bag he didn't notice her wearing on her back. She hands it to him, he nods in thanks.

She pulls her sweater down over her hands, scoots closer to him. She stares off ahead of them, watching the cars go flying past, "Steve?"

He watches the cars, too. "Yeah?"

"You were supposed to be gone."

He frowns, but he doesn't look at her. "How did you know that?"

"I saw the note on the counter when I came in, I hadn't heard from you all day," She gets up from the bench, she lays down on the asphalt, "I was worried about you."

He doesn't want to, but he moves to lay down next to her. He feels like he should. "I'm fine."

She laughs and her chest rises up and down quickly, "No you're not."

He finds a star that glistens, "Yeah, I guess not." The stars are pretty at night, he thinks. Then he curses himself for thinking that cause you can only see them at night.

She breathes, then she shuffles a bit. "You're so smart. Do you know that?"

"Don't fucking do that shit." He scoffs. He feels uncomfortable. He doesn't like when people lie.

He can see her shake her head out of the corner of his eye, "I mean, you fucking suck at math, but."

"_You_." She says.

He goes, "What?"

"When we first met, at Dino's, I was so angry. It was my first job, and I had to work with an idiot. I thought you were a total idiot. You were always tripping over everything, always getting peanut butter and caramel flavor mixed up. I complained to my mom about you, like, every day. I was like '_Mom he's so stupid, a fucking dingus._'"

She pauses for a moment and when he glances over he can see her smiling slightly. She continues.

"She told me that I had a crush on you, and I absolutely did _not_. I told her I didn't, but she insisted that I did. That's why she kept coming in and teasing us. She was sure that the olive-toned boy was gonna be my boyfriend. That's what she called you, 'olive-toned boy,' and I totally fucking hated it."

Steve closes his eyes, watching the scenes she describes as they happen as if he's back there.

"I hated the way she teased me. It made me feel wrong, it made me feel like I was lying to my mom. We were at dinner, my mom had cooked a casserole. Honestly, I don't even remember what kind it was because I was so fucking nervous. She sat the pan right in the middle of the table, and I ate _so_ much of it. My dad was just _staring_ and my mom looked so happy cause I looked like I was enjoying her food but I don't even remember what it tastes like because I was so fucking _nervous_. They started talking about schools for me, about what I should do with my future and I just blurted it out."

She shudders a breath, "I told them I'm a lesbian, and it got so quiet. And I could feel that casserole bubbling in my stomach, I felt like I was just gonna throw it all up. My dad looked so disappointed like those few words had ruined everything. I think it did, for him anyway."

"Every day after that, I think you noticed that something was wrong with me, and I was so confused because the _dingus_ was making me laugh."

She chuckles and he laughs with her, "You made me feel good. The time I worked with you was the only time that I would smile and laugh, and feel like myself again. You made me feel like Robin, and you're so fucking smart for that."

She grabs his hand; her rings cold on his skin.

"You knew that I was upset, that I was feeling so _fucked_, and you helped me. And I don't think you even knew that. Not until now."

He squeezes her hand, "I didn't."

"You're so smart and so _good_ and so _kind_ and _caring_ and I love you for that."

She squeezes back, "We all fucking love you for that." She turns on her side to face him, "You're my best fucking friend, and I'm not best friends with just anybody."

Steve sighs, the weight of everything and more crushing him, "You really think I can help her."

It wasn't a question, but she answers him anyway.

"I fucking know you can."

He shakes his head, eyes darting across the night sky. The stars make him dizzy, he has to close his eyes. "I'm late, Rob."

"Yeah, you are. But she'll understand."

She lays back down on the asphalt, flat on her back. "She'll understand. She might be mad, at first. But, you're gonna go, and you're gonna bring her back here. And tomorrow, when you're better, she'll get to witness _you_."

He tears up a little, and he sniffles. When a tear escapes for the second time today, he doesn't wipe it away. He lets it burn down his cheek, marking its path.

"She'll get to witness you, Steve Harrington. My best friend, my soulmate."

The sob in his throat rips out as a laugh and the other tears that were waiting, they fall. "_Soulmate_?"

She laughs too, and it floods the empty parking lot, "Yeah I don't know, like fucking brothers in arms or something.

He laughs even louder, rising up a little and clutching his stomach. "_Brothers in arms_?"

"_Yes_!"

"Those two things: soulmate and brothers in arms? Yeah, they don't fucking mix, Rob."

She punches him in the arm, solidifying their love, "Shut the fuck up you asshole."

He rubs at his arm where it feels warm and mutters, "You punch like a fucking brother in arms."

She reaches at him again, but it falls short as she laughs louder than he's ever heard her.

Sure, she said he helped her. But right now, she's helping him.

**The 19th of January, 10:37 pm**

He can see her.

She's got on this cute colored jacket. It's green but barely, and sweats and boots. Fucking _uggs_.

Her hair's pulled back, and she's looking down at something in her hands. It's probably a phone, Steve thinks, but he can't really see that well cause he's still in his fucking car.

He runs a hand through his hair and scoffs at himself. Her cheeks and nose are pink, she's probably cold. He's pretty warm in here, in his car with the heat. In his car where he could take her and potentially fuck her life up even further.

He sits his head on the rim of the steering wheel. He grips it, hard, and he breathes once, two, three times. He feels like he's hiding. He is hiding, prey in plain sight. He wants to get out, he does. His legs just won't move. His feet are planted to his floormat, the muscles in his legs tighten as he digs his legs into the floor. He picks his head up, when he looks over to her she's looking at him. Staring. He's been spotted.

She doesn't look happy, but that could very well just be her face.

He keeps the contact while he's gripping the door handle, then he opens it. The cold air slams into his face and he's fighting against it as he walks towards her in the dark. The only is the small one above the bench where she sits. It's a little too dark, and for a second he hopes she knows it's him. He halts his steps, peers a little. When she frowns at him he moves forward, but only slightly.

"Eleven?"

There's a moment where she doesn't say anything. He goes to repeat himself but he can feel her gaze, she knows.

"You're late." Is what she says to him.

He sits down beside her, really _really_ seeing her for the first time. "Yeah, I know."

He stares out ahead of him, it's some habit he can't break. Robin says it's his way of avoiding important things. He says it isn't, but she has a way of being right all the time.

"I'm _really_ fucking sorry."

She doesn't say anything, but he can feel her looking at him like she's really listening.

"I just - I was coming. I _was_ and then I just got _so_ fucked up," He pauses and glances at her, "Not like drunk fucked up but like, emotionally."

She asks _why_.

He doesn't want to but he says, "I couldn't open my ice cream."

He hears a noise out of her and when he looks over she's twisting her mouth, and she's shaking slightly.

He rolls his eyes, "It's _not_ funny."

"I just, I felt like a failure for the whole day. I thought that, like, if I can't even help _me_, then how can I help _you_."

Her skin raises the goosebumps on his when she lays her hand down on his, "You're here now."

She says it slow and cautious like she's doing this for the first time. She kind of smiles at him.

He nudges her shoulder with his, "Yeah I am."

He reaches into his pocket, remembering the gloves he brought with him, "Here, kid. Your hands are cold as shit."

She takes them with a smile, a bigger one than the last, "Your fault."

He stands and she follows, "Haha, very funny. Now let's go, it's fucking freezing out here."

Steve pushes her in front of him, to keep an eye out when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He calls out to Eleven, "Wait." And he pulls it out.

A FaceTime call from Ma

"Oh, _fuck_ _me_."

Before he presses the green button that'll rip his ear off, he unlocks the doors and tells Eleven to get in while he waits outside.

"You know how to turn the heat on?"

"Yes."

"Have at it kid. I'll be in, just gimmie a second."

He sits back down on the bench and hits the answer button.

"_Steve_!"

He puts one hand to his ear, "What the fuck, Ma!"

She frowns at the camera, she's way too close, "Oh, don't give me that shit. Where are you?"

When he goes to answer, he hears a giggle. It sounds like a young boy, but when he looks he doesn’t see anything.

His mother asks again, “Steve?”

”Yeah, yeah. I’m in uh - in Hawkins.”

She frowns behind her glasses, “Hawkins? Where Lily used to live?”

He nods slowly, hearing scuffling and whispering. He looks to his car, just to make sure she’s okay. That she’s not messing with him. He hears something.

”Yeah, where Aunt Lily used to stay.”

He looks back to his screen staring at his mom when he notices a magnet on the fridge that looks familiar. “

”Wait, are you in my apartment?”

”Yes.”

”_Why_?”

She pushes her frames further back on her nose and scoffs, “Baby, come on. It’s Saturday.”

”Saturday...” He goes, as if he’s supposed to know what the fuck she’s talking about.

”Saturday movie night?”

Oh.

He _is_ supposed to know what the fuck she’s talking about.

He digs his fingers in the sockets of his eyes, his head’s starting to pound and he still can’t get that fucking giggling to stop.

”I’m sorry, ma. _Fuck_.”

She sighs and tilts her head. She takes her glasses off. “Steve, it’s okay. I’m just worried about you, you know? You’ve been forgetting things, more often than usual, and now you’re in Hawkins? You haven’t been there in years. None of us have.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He keeps hearing a name. Jake, maybe Jack?

”Yeah, ma. I know. I’m just helping a friend.”

”What friend? I know _all_ of your friends, including the children, and none of them live in Hawkins.”

He stutters, the voices get louder, “You - you don’t know her, ma. She’s - she’s a new friend -“

”_You’re my best friend, Jacob!”_

Steve stands up, phone gripped tight in his hand. He heard it this time, loud and clear, like whoever is right next to him. Like in the next moment he’ll see their breath in the air right next to his.

”_Jacob, wait up!”_

The phone vibrates slightly in his hand, “Steve, honey? Are you okay?”

He hears a bike bell, tires crunching against the ground. His sense of sound and direction are fucked, because he’s looking one way but they come from another. 

There’s a blond, and a brunette. Young boys, riding their bikes at almost midnight with short sleeve shirts in January.

His mother is still calling for him when he shouts, “Hey! Put on a fucking jacket.”

Way to go, Steve. Of course you don’t look like a strange man yelling at children, he thinks.

He doesn’t look, but he can hear the car door open, Eleven steps out. He can see her green jacket in his peripheral. “Steve?”

His mother talks again, “Steve, who was that? Steve -“

”_Steve, I’m gonna beat you!”_

Steve, the one here, he frowns and he feels like his eyes are about to fall out when his mouth moves to say, “You’re cheating, Jacob!”

”_You’re cheating, Jacob!”_

What the fuck_._

“_Jacob? _Steve - baby what’s going on?”

The boys bike around each other, going further and further into the forest. Steve follows them, leaving that one pole light behind. If it weren’t for his mother in his kitchen with all the lights on, he wouldn’t see shit. He hears a weight behind him. He knows Eleven got out of the car, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Not yet.

His phone makes a noise, and the call drops. He can’t see anything anymore. Only the boy, he’s off his bike now. He’s just standing there. Steve gets closer and closer until he’s standing side by side. The boy can’t see him, and Steve can barely see him, but he can see the watch on his wrist. The one that says ‘_Harrington_,’ the one just like his father gave him when he was younger.

The kid is _him_.

The kid, Little Steve walks off. He calls out for Jacob. He stops when he gets next to a tree, it looks different. It’s black and sticky and gooey and it fucking reeks and Steve isn’t sure that this tree is actually even here, in front of him right now. There’s a hole in it, Little Steve reaches down to touch it. He probably thinks Jacob, whoever that is, is in there.

Little Steve holds his index finger out, almost touching the opening. He’s almost there when there’s a fluttering. A fluttering - like a giant fucking butterfly. Except, butterflies are pretty and elegant and _this_, whatever this is - it’s the opposite. It comes from the opening in the tree, stretches up and up and up and up even more until Steve’s neck will break if he continues to crane it.

Eleven grabs his hand and tries to pull him back. Steve tries to grab _his_ hand too, but it goes right through him like air.

It stretches its arms out, it reaches down and then Little Stevie boy is in a chokehold, and Steve is pretty sure Jacob’s screams just pierced his ears.

Eleven pulls him and he runs and he’s pretty sure she’s using whatever powers she has that he still doesn’t understand yet, cause she’s pulling all of his weight. He isn’t willingly moving, he was stuck, frozen. And he guesses she doesn’t know how to drive yet because if she did he’d be in the passenger, with his eyes still glued to Little Steve and the shadow. Like, a giant shadow.

He starts the car and he just sits there for a moment, because he hears a voice. Another voice.

It said, “Come back to me.” 


	3. and even though it hurt, he found himself wanting it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay, hi. it's been a very long while and i'm sorry!! life happened and school got hectic, but i hope you're still invested. tbh school is still hard but i really needed this. this one is short and maybe a little bad - i'm trying to get back into the groove, but i hope you enjoy it!

**The 20th of January, 1:43 am**

The first thing that greets Steve and Eleven when they open the door is his mother squishing his face.

"Steve, what the fuck!"

Great. 

"Ma - ow stop squishing my face, the fuck!"

She steps back and swats at him, "Don't give me that shit. You scared the hell out of me."

He shrugs his jacket and hangs it on the rack. He gestures towards Eleven and she hands him hers and goes to sit down.

His mother's eyes follow Eleven as she goes to the living room, "And who is this? Steven she looks like a child!"

"Probably because she _is_, ma."

"Well which _child_, Steven, because out of all the ones you're around I have never seen her!"

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ma, you're like - asking _way_ too many questions right now.

She blocks his path and glares at him. "Steven, _now_."

He can't really ever remember a time where she called him Steven but, he guesses it's one of those things your parents do to make you fall in line, whatever.

"She's a new friend from Hawkins, alright? She's sixteen and she's got like a bad home life right now, or whatever. So, I'm _helping_ her."

He walks around his mother as she scoffs, "_A bad home life right now or whatever_? Really?"

He stops in his tracks and turns around, rubbing his face. "Ma, please."

"No, _no_. You do not get to just - just _brush_ me off. And that phone call? What _was_ that? I mean I called you over and over again for _hours_. I was so worried, Steve."

"I don't even know what that was, okay? I was on the phone with you and then all of a sudden I - I see _me_. And some kid named Jacob."

His mother's face falls. "Jacob?"

"Yeah, Jacob." And he doesn't get why she goes quiet until he looks at her face. "What's that look for?"

Her eyes snap up to his, "What- what look honey?"

He waves his hands around and runs one through his hair. "_This_ look, the one you're giving me right now," He looks back into the living room and spots Eleven fiddling with the remote. "Look, I don't have time for this. Like at all. I am _sorry_ that I missed movie night, and I'm sorry that I scared you. But she _needs_ me."

He wishes he did have time for it, though. Because despite her constant worrying, she’s his mother. With everything they had gone through, she’d been there for him. She sees him every Saturday, texts him everyday. Even though he doesn’t always reply. She is his rock. But, now he has to take her place. For someone else.

She complies. "Okay. But I will be calling you tomorrow. First thing."

Once his mother leaves, he can feel the tension leave his shoulders with her. He goes into his pantry and reaches for a bag of marshmallows that's half empty.

He walks over to the couch and hands them to Eleven. "Here, you can have the rest." She smiles in thanks and he just sits there for a moment beside her, watching.

She seems normal enough. After all the emotional distress of today he can finally see her, in the flesh. Not some sort of mental projection. Not on a barely lit bus bench. Not in the darkness as she drags him away from it. Not in his car in the middle of the night, but she’s here. 

They talk, for a long while. She tells him about her mother, and how bad of a bind she was in that she resorted to giving her body to science, while pregnant. She tells him of her Papa, who's not such a good Papa. They used her, they put her in tanks. In closets. She tells him about a Margie, and how she manipulated her. About how she tricked her into a near death. 

It might have taken a while. He might have had to cry into ice cream and have a heart to heart with his brother in arms, but he gets it now. Well, sort of.

He still doesn’t know how he reached out, or how she found him. Or why she continued to seek after him. Steve thinks that the details don’t really matter anymore.

For some reason, she trusts him.

After a Papa - who he learns is Martin Brenner, a name he feels much more comfortable saying - and after a Margie, he feels a tug in his chest at how willing she is to believe in him. Besides her father, the good one, he wonders if she ever did have anyone to believe.

But she trusts him. And he’s gonna keep that trust. And he doesn’t know much about powers, or about people in lab coats but he’s going to do his fucking hardest to understand.

Because, “El?”

She turns to him with an arm deep in the bag of marshmallows, surprised at the nickname. “Yes?”

He swallows hard. “Do you trust me?” 'Cause he just wants to know for sure.

She looks at him, really looks. Like, in all this time she never truly asked herself if she did or not. Like it’s now where she decides if she can trust a barely there teenager to help her get her life back.

He’s still looking at her. Waiting for an answer.

Her arm is still elbow deep in the bag, there are only three marshmallows left.

”I like the name El.”

He just says, “Well it’s yours.”

She pulls the three marshmallows out of the bag and places two in his hand, one in her mouth.

”I trust you, Steve.”

And well, that’s all that he needed to know.

It’s 2 AM when she tells him about the gate. A supposed rip in space, a door to another world. One like ours, but the differences are massive. It’s dark, she told him. And not dark like when you turn the lights off. She said dark like _scary_. The buildings that scatter their true world with light are covered in black goop and slime in the other. She says there’s no sky. It’s just one big plane of grey. Never changing, only when the monster comes.

"_The sky lights up, like there are fireworks inside_."

She tells him about the monsters inside. Many teeth and no face, she said. The second scariest monster to her, is the one with wings. 

He asks her, “What’s the scariest?”

She tells him it’s the shadow.

”The one you saw tonight.”

He remembers. How it towered over him, he can still feel the ache in his neck from trying to look at it. He remembers trying to grab Little Steve, and how his hand went right through him. And the scream, it still rings in his ears. 

“What is that thing?” Is all he says.

”I don’t really know,” She sits further back on the couch. “It hurt lots of people.”

He ends the conversation after that. He doesn’t really want to go to sleep after that, but he knows that she needs to. He sets her up in the spare room, with drawings covering the walls. Courtesy of Will. And little sticky notes saying stupid shit like ‘_clean your fucking house harrington_’ which can be brought by Max.

He thinks of them after El falls asleep. Doesn’t really know if it’s a good idea to tell them or not. They may be mature, probably more than him, but they’re still kids. So is El, but this her life, unfortunately. 

But he knows for sure that the kids won’t let it go. He can never keep a secret from them. It used to annoy him, really. But, after tonight he doesn’t really think it’s all that bad.

He lays himself down in his bed and keeps his door open, just to check on her. His eyes droop, surprisingly, and he can feel himself slip away. As he goes, he can just faintly hear a voice speak to him. It says, “I would never hurt you.”

**3:13 AM**

He's seeing something again.

Little Steve's at the foot of his bed, doing nothing. He looks nervous though, or - maybe more afraid. His back is turned to Steve, and he doesn't want to move and mess up whatever it is he's seeing. He hears footsteps heading in the direction of his room, and he almost calls out to El. To tell her to stay in her room, just in case she messes it up too. But it's not El.

It's Lindsay Harrington, seven years younger.

She crouches down where Little Steve is and grabs his hands. "Sweetie, do you feel like talking now?"

Little Steve just shrugs, "I guess."

Steve doesn't remember _any_ of this.

Lindsay - his mom - sits down on the floor completely in front of her younger son and crosses her legs. "Okay. Tell me what happened." Steve can see that her eyes are glassy and red rimmed.

Little Steve takes a deep shuddering breath - so hard that his overalls shift, "We were biking in the woods, and I _know_ you said we weren't supposed to but we didn't think anything bad was going to happen!"

He tries to think back to his twelve year old self, and Steve can't really remember anything. He doesn't remember being this _fragile_.

"Keep going, baby." She tells his younger self.

He nods and wipes at his face. “We were just going to go in and come right back out, but we heard something. So w- we went to it and it was like this _animal_. I - I tried to help him but - but.” And then Little Steve blubbers into his mother’s shoulders and then the image disappears.

And even though he had only saw it yesterday- whatever Little Steve had said was a _complete_ lie.

Steve saw a shadow, El saw a shadow and Jacob was nowhere to be seen. And Steve heard a scream. 

Then, as if his brain was waiting for him to figure it out, Little Steve showed up again. Except he wasn’t sitting on the bed this time, he was standing in front of the mirror with a black tux and an obituary in his hands. Little Steve looks at himself in the mirror and smiles.

Steve doesn’t move for the rest of the night, and only startles when El comes knocking on his door at seven am asking about breakfast.

**7:43 AM**

”It was _me_ \- little me - but there was something off. Like I was evil, or something.”

”Maybe just a nightmare?” El suggests and suddenly he feels like the Steve from a few days ago. Robin had told him he’d had a drunk dream. El says this time it’s a nightmare.

No pop tarts today, though. El wanted a _real_ breakfast apparently.

Steve stabs into his eggs before picking up the hot sauce and dousing them in it. “I don’t know. It was like the other night, after my mom called?”

El nods, mouth full of rice.

”I saw it,” Steve continues. “Like a memory playing out right in front of me, it was fucking crazy.”

She doesn’t say anything else after that, but she’s picking at her food less and less. Like she’s in thought.

Steve wipes his hands off on his shirt and clasps his hands together. “Listen, we aren’t here to talk about my problems. We’re here to find your dad.”

”Yes. Your friends are coming today?”

”Yeah, and like - sorry? In advance? They’re fucking terrible.”

And _maybe -_ just maybe El likes terrible? Maybe she has a connection to annoyingly annoying people with slight issues because she’s getting along with everybody - except Max, who’s late.

Steve can tell that she likes Will and Lucas the most, and he understands why. They’re the more grounded of the group, the ones who can try and understand El’s life, and the fact that she isn’t used to many people. Lucas took a _selfie_ with her. And maybe, this won’t be so bad. Well, none of them know anything about a gate, or how to open one - well _she_ does, but. They’re just ordinary kids, who really only got roped into this mess because of him. But if he hadn’t told them they probably would’ve found out anyways. Which is actually a lot worse than him telling them outright, so.

They’re all clueless basically, but he thinks they'll do just fine.

They watch movies for a while, and Steve almost cried at the way El fell in love with Jean Grey, and Wonder Woman. And it wasn't a fawning, or squealing but just, the admiration. The little twinkle in her eyes when the day would be saved by the women, in their own ways. And when she'd ask questions Steve wanted to say,

"_You don't know_?" or "_You didn't get to this part?_"

But he couldn't. Because she didn't know.

But she learned. She would ask the questions, and the kids would mostly beat him to it. In the middle of a movie switch, Steve heads over to his pantry to grab the bag of marshmallows when there's a knock at his door.

"Hey, kid. Everything okay?" He asks as he opens the door.

She chuckles and pushes pat him. "Everything's cool, mom wanted to have a family dinner."

"I'm sure Hargrove was happy with that," Steve hums as he closes the pantry, no marshmallows to be found.

"He ate his food in like, three minutes."

Steve scrunches his nose up and fake gags and he pulls her into the living room.

"Maxine Mayfield - meet El."

Then things _change_. The air goes a little cold, and the warm smile on El's face turns into a freezing look of terror. The boys go rigid behind her, and El just stares at Max and her eyes gloss over. She stands and her breath hitches in her throat. Steve looks back from her to Max, and then back to El again. And he does it again and again until the realization sinks to his stomach and then rises to his throat by the name of, "_Margie_."

And he gets it now. The red haired, blue eyed woman who had tricked El. The devil in the skin of a pretty woman who had hurt a little girl. A woman who had put false hope into a true heart. And he wished he had realized beforehand, wished he had given El a warning. But he didn't think to - because Max isn't the devil. She's just a kid, with a brain that could trump Steve's. With a fire in her that couldn't be as bright as her hair. And a heart as pure as the water in her eyes. But _El_ doesn't know that. And he doesn't get to tell her either, because she hasn't calmed down. The look in her eyes only intensifies, and she presses a hand to what can only be her rapidly beating heart. Steve can see that she wants to calm down, but she can't. Her mind sees danger, and her legs give out and she sinks to the floor. Blood trickles from her nose and her hands go to her ears.

He wants to go to her, and he tries but he sees something in the corner of his eye. For a second he wants to believe that he's dreaming again, but the pulse of her energy feels real. _Too_ real, almost. There's a ripple in the air, and then that space goes black, and that darkness spreads. He can hear the kids screaming now, scrambling away from that corner. But, Steve feels drawn to it. It feels safe. It - it feels like home.

He feels like he's floating - and then there's a pull. Turning around slowly, he sees El with a hand reached out to him.

"Steve let go!"

He doesn't remember holding on to anything, but when he looks down at his hand he sees a snake looking shadow tangled around his hand. He yanks himself away from it, and it yanks back.

Then El, and this thing are in a game of tug of war with a rag doll by the name of Steve Harrington. The shadow slithers up his arm, and he can see more of the - the body? More of it leaves the black space. The shadow on his body feels like one big whisper that he can't quite hear. He stops pulling himself back and El loses momentum and she falls.

He listens.

"_Let_ _me_ _in_. _Let_ _me_ _in_ _again_."

He feels cold now, the shadow has almost completely covered his body, and he's so close to giving in - to saying _yes_. But he hears a, "No!" and then it _hurts_ as he's thrown backwards. The shadow's ripped off of him like a second skin. He lands near the front door, and just as he's getting up he can see it slither back through the ripple, and then it closes.

Then it all sinks into him. How cold he is, how his skin now burns at the breeze from the kids running to him. How _vulnerable_ he was. He starts to shake, and he's not really sure if it's from him being cold, or him crying.

He feels ruined. He can hear El talking to him, in her voice that feels like she's always speaking for the first time - so soft. Soft enough that he can ignore the cold that feels permanent on his body. Soft enough that his breathing slows and slows. 

Then he's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly steve's gonna kicked out of the apartment - he makes so much NOISE!!


End file.
